Suffocating
by pokeitlikejello
Summary: Huddy. House and Cuddy are in her office after hours. Some drama, some angst, some heat... you know you can't resist.


**Well, this fic came out of some mysterious place. I was channeling some Huddy and this somehow came about. I don't own any characters. It's only one chapter. Read and enjoy!! **

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Sometimes it was hard for her to breathe when he was in the room. Usually it was due to anger, but occasionally (and it was a very _rare _occasion), when the majority of the hospital went home, he would sit on the small couch in the corner of her office and she wouldn't be able to breathe. 

It was only a handful of days a year that he did this. House would place himself on her couch, not particularly looking at her, but in her direction. He would remain quiet, almost brooding, until she spoke. Tonight wasn't any different.

Cuddy watched him as she sat in her desk chair, waiting for the right moment. It was a careful art to get him to talk to her on these nights. She always asked him directly what the problem was. Half the time he would tell her, the other half of the time he would make her work for it.

She wondered what it was. What had gotten to him today, so deep into him, that he couldn't let it go at the end of the night. It was always something he chose not to tell Wilson. It was always something he only wanted to talk to Cuddy about.

Even then, she knew, he might not always talk. He would _always_ tell her the problem, but sometimes he wanted to change the subject immediately after and never go back. Again, it was a dodgy, risky, careful art.

"What happened?" Cuddy's voice cut through the silence.

His eyes focused on her. "Do you..."

He trailed off and said nothing more. Cuddy had leaned in, anticipating the question. When she realized he wasn't going to finish his thought, she sat back. Slowly, she stood and made her way across the room. She sat down in the chair next to the couch, hoping it would ease the words from him and not push him further away from her.

House refused to let his eyes follow her across the room. Instead, he lowered them to his hands, which were moving slightly as they hung off his lap, fingers entwining in his way of presenting nervousness. Cuddy wanted to reach out and place her hands on his. But, she couldn't. Just moving closer was enough to make him flee. She didn't want to push it.

Of course, he had never fled during one of these talks. He never even threatened the idea when things got heated. But, she always thought he might go suddenly. So, she wouldn't push, she wouldn't pry because she needed this as much as he did.

"I was in the clinic today," Cuddy started, hoping her story might get him to share. "A little girl was in with her mother. She stopped breathing. The girl, not the mother. I had been getting the time logs for the week and all of a sudden there was this girl on the floor turning blue. I've seen kids die. I've seen kids stop breathing, stop living, right in front of my eyes more times than I'd like to admit. Today was different... I just felt so... scared." Cuddy was staring at the floor now, her voice quiet. "Sometimes you can feel it when someone's going to die. You just know. One minute she's reading Harry Potter, the next minutes she's on the floor."

House finally looked over to Cuddy, who had brought her eyes up to meet his.

"She died ten minutes later."

"What did she die of?" House's voice came out rough, unused.

Cuddy knew the story would intrigue him, even if it was painful and tragic. "Pneumonia. It had been misdiagnosed by a doctor at another hospital."

"There's nothing after this." House had turned his gaze to the floor.

Cuddy shook her head lightly. "You don't know there's not, House."

"And you don't know there is." He looked back up at her.

She became silent. He held his eyes on her for a moment longer, then diverted them. She rested back in the chair, keeping her eyes on him.

"Cameron kissed me once." His eyes found their focus on the floor. "Before she attempted to _steal my blood_." House paused, his voice dropping to something of a whisper. "Stacy..."

Cuddy felt her heart freeze at the name, the air rushing from her, not being able to breathe. _That_was the effect he had when he spoke to her sometimes. The air would leave her and she was sure it wouldn't return. It was as if he took it from her just to make sure she knew he still had control.

It wasn't that Cuddy didn't like Stacy. The two had gotten along well enough, but never really formed any close relationship. Stacy would never know that Cuddy was often distant and cold because of the way in which Stacy treated House. Not that it was all Stacy's fault, but Cuddy had chosen sides with House so long ago that she knew she could never forfeit him for someone else.

The relationship of Stacy and House was long and complicated. Cuddy knew that. She also knew that House had ruined their relationship after his surgery. But, she also knew that he fell to pieces when Stacy was hired back. Yes, Cuddy _had_ hired her, it was her duty as hospital administrator to hire someone who knew and could handle House. However, she hadn't known the effect it would cause.

House was weakened, a mess, the jealously of Stacy's husband always prevalent. Cuddy regretted hiring Stacy, she regretted telling House to just deal with it, and she regretted that she couldn't be more protective of House's feelings. But, House was never one to toy with or try to figure out. Cuddy had to leave him be. She knew that.

Which is why it killed her when he spoke of Stacy. It killed her to see the expression on his face. It was the hurt in his eyes that always made her weak. He knew this. It was why he kept his eyes diverted from her.

Cuddy raised herself from the chair and moved to the couch. She paused before sitting, hoping this was a good move. She made sure no part of her was touching him.

"I blame myself for everything." His words were bitter, angry, and quiet. "I know I was the way I was before my surgery happened back when I was with Stacy. I know _how_ I was. But after I came out of that coma and I found out... I could have killed her."

"You would have been dead, House," Cuddy replied gently. "If Stacy hadn't-"

House looked to Cuddy, his anger clearly evident through the glint in his eyes. "I know what I wanted and I said what I wanted. Stacy gave complete disregard for that. As did you." House let the blame sink in. "But, all of this wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for my damn leg."

"It's not your fault." Cuddy's voice took on a stricter tone to make him see that his idea was absurd.

"It was my body that ruined us," House spoke. "Our bodies are built with complex defense systems. They know when to attack foreign beings, they know how to filter and rebuild, they allow us to feel pain, heat, cold in order to protect ourselves."

"Right, your infarction was protecting you against Stacy," Cuddy said, lifting her eyebrows with an annoyed agreement.

"Don't you get it, Cuddy?" House asked, raising his voice. "Don't you understand? I drive people away, I make people leave me. And when I don't do it on purpose or accidentally, my body makes sure it happens. Because I have to be alone."

Cuddy was usually nicer than this during these talks. However, she couldn't take House's sudden interest in self pity. "That's complete bullshit."

House picked himself up from the couch and limped with his cane to the middle of the office. He turned to Cuddy and began shouting. "You know what's bullshit, Cuddy? The two people I _trusted_ went behind my back while I was in a _coma_ to give me a surgery I specifically denied! That's what's bullshit!"

Cuddy stood from the couch and crossed to him, angrily. "You would have been dead if we gave you what _you_ wanted, House!"

"At least it would have been my choice!" House was inches from Cuddy's face.

"Yeah, and I bet you would have been glad to know that you'd never have to make another choice again because you would have been dead," Cuddy spat back. "And since you insist this is it, that's a pretty depressing ending, isn't it?"

"You don't know that it would have killed me," House sneered.

"As a matter of fact I do," Cuddy insisted. "You were too weak. You barely made it through the surgery when we removed the dead muscle from your damn stubborn thigh!"

They stared at each other, each breathing heavily, neither backing down. Finally, House turned from her and moved towards the door. Cuddy felt her breath escape once more, fearing she might have actually done it. This was one of those times when their talk became so heated that she feared he would leave.

But, he didn't. He simply stood there, the entryway to her office dark behind him. He placed a hand against the glass, putting his weight against the closed door. Cuddy remained still, her body feeling completely deflated. She took in a very rigid breath.

An apology was caught in her throat. If this conversation had occurred with any other person, there would have been an apology, but she was with House and they never apologized to each other. They didn't need to. They understood that the words exchanged, although often times true, were never meant to hurt. It was simply the way that they communicated. A way in which other people often didn't understand.

"That's why you gave me the cold shoulder all day." Cuddy tried to ignore that pain that throbbed through her at remembering the hurt she felt whenever House purposely ignored her. "Have you been thinking about it a lot?"

House didn't respond, but his hand lowered and his shoulders straightened. Cuddy took that as a good sign and stepped towards him. She remained a foot away, giving him the space she knew he needed.

"Thinking about what," he muttered, giving a slight glance over his shoulder.

That was Cuddy's cue to drop it. They weren't going to discuss it anymore. He was done. He said all he had needed to.

Cuddy chose to move closer, invading his space. She stepped alongside of him and looked up at him, but he stared straight ahead. She found it hard to breathe once again, but couldn't place why. Until he suddenly turned to her and ran a hand up through her dark hair before pulling her into a kiss.

Within a second, Cuddy had pushed him back and moved away. She stopped walking backward and wished she had been a bit further away from him, but knew she couldn't move her feet again, the shock of House's sudden display of emotion enough to throw her off.

"What do you think you are doing?" She hadn't lost her voice in that moment and was glad when it came out authoritative and without much surprise.

House made his way towards her and, as she knew, she was planted firmly in that spot. He slipped his hand into her hair once more and placed his other hand lightly on her cheek. His mouth was on hers and everything in her wanted to fight against him, but she didn't. She kissed him back instead.

"It's late." The words sounded dumb to her own ears as House's lips traveled down her neck, sending her chills. "I have to go home."

"I can come with you," he whispered, his lips lightly brushing all the way across her chest before kissing the other side of her neck.

Cuddy felt a deep, turning pit form in her stomach. The normal case of butterflies was complicated by the fact that this was House. She felt weak. She needed to pull away, but couldn't.

"No..." She protested this, she protested his proposition, and she protested what was most likely to ensue.

"You don't want to do this, House," she told him, a hand through his hair. She had wanted to push his head away, but her fingers merely remained embedded in the dark thickness. "You're currently upset with yourself... and with me... and Stacy..."

"Stop talking." His lips were on hers again.

She was certain her knees were going to give out. He must have sensed this because his hands found themselves on her hips and he navigated her backward to the couch. He flinched as his thigh cried out in pain when he flopped down on the couch along with Cuddy.

His hands moved fast, unbuttoning her top with one hand (his specialty), while the other hand had found it's way to the small of Cuddy's back. She tensed at his touch. He kissed her cheek up to her ear and then moved on to caressing her neck with his mouth.

"House..." she breathed, her hands on his chest. She needed to stop this, especially since her top was crumpled on the floor.

"Remember the first time..." he whispered to her. "This will be better."

She forced him away, drawing herself back, but not bothering to cover her chest now that she was reduced to her bra.

"We can't, House." Cuddy shook her head, her hands still on his chest. "There's... we just... can't."

House pulled away, casting himself harshly against the cushions of the couch. Cuddy reached down to the floor to pick up her shirt. She put it back on and buttoned it. House's breathing had been heavy, but returned to normal, his eyes never leaving Cuddy.

Painfully, House lifted himself from the couch. He made his way to his cane which he had let drop to the floor when he first made his move on Cuddy.

"House..." Cuddy tilted her head to the side, eyebrows drawn sadly.

House picked up his cane and walked to the door. He opened it and looked to Cuddy. House gave a tight smile, showing her there wasn't a problem between them. They were okay, same as always. That's how they worked.

"I wish-" Cuddy cut her own words off, not being able to finish.

House gave a small nod. "I know."

With that, he left her office, taking the air with him. Cuddy leaned into the couch cushions, unwanted tears clouding her eyes, and found herself unable to breathe for the fourth time that night.

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**Fin.**


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